What Goes Around Comes Around
by CiZiwejes
Summary: Dean was running a high fever and had difficulties breathing. Fear not! Sam was there to help. Sick!Dean Caring!Sam one-shot written in honor of orenkiut's birthday. Happy birthday hun!


**Disclaimer**: Nope! Not mine *pouts*  
**Betas**: Bia1007 and PsiChic

**a/n**:This one-shot was written in honor of orenkiut. It was her birthday and she requested a Dean centered scene in my other story, but it would take too long so I offered her this one-shot as redemption. Happy birthday Hun!

**Summary**: Dean was running a high fever and at one point had difficulties breathing. Worry not! Sam was there to help.

* * *

**What Goes Around Comes Around**

"Done?"

Dean looked at Sam and continued watching the banshee's remains vaporize into thin air. Its loud shriek pierced through the night but was muffled by the sound of thunder growling above them.

"Yeah…"Dean answered absent-mindedly.

Hearing the indifferent response, Sam gave Dean a quick check up. His brother's shoulders were sagged and slumped forward awkwardly. Scrutinizing Dean, Sam saw the slight trembles of his hands – which he unsuccessfully tried to cover by clenching them into a fist.

"You 'kay?"

"Uhh?" Dean looked at Sam with confusion, as if Sam had just asked a question that was out of this world. His green eyes ran over Sam's face and Sam could see the unfocused gaze in those glassy eyes. "Yeah…m' fine."

It took Dean too long to answer, which was not normal. His mind wasn't working so well, Sam could see. Something was definitely wrong and Dean was trying to hide it, or maybe he wasn't aware himself.

Sam rested the shotgun on his shoulder and looked up. It looked like it was starting to rain soon. One tiny drop on his nose confirmed his thought. But then, the warning came too late. The first drop was followed by a heavy downpour and the boys started running towards the Impala.

It was merely a hundred meters from the battle site to the Impala but by the time they reached the car, they were drenched and nothing on them was dry anymore. Sam was the first to arrive at the car and cursed remembering he didn't have the key. It was in Dean's pocket and Dean just seemed to be moving too slow. He turned around and saw that Dean was barely running, he was basically dragging himself.

"Dean!!" Sam called – his voice bobbed in the noisy rain. "You can play cat in the rain later, but not now!"

Dean looked up and finally registering something as he started running towards Sam, one hand reaching into the pocket, retrieving the key. Sam's brows twitched, realizing that Dean didn't even rebuke about his sarcastic remarks.

Once he had reached the car, Dean fumbled to open the door and that was when Sam realized the trembles on rocking Dean's body so furiously.

"Hey…" Sam reached out, opening the door – brushing Dean's hand in the process. Dean felt too cold to his liking. "Let me drive." It was not a suggestion, it was a demand.

"Whatever." Dean tossed the key towards Sam and half-jogged half-stumbled round the Impala. Sam watched his brother with wary eyes. Dean propped himself by putting one hand on the Impala, using it as support.

Sam double-checked his mental list. Could it be a concussion? Nope! How about being tossed to the tree? No! Scrawny rotted hands clawing his neck, threatening to snap it into two? Hardly. They both escaped with no injuries. A lucky strike for once. The banshee gig had been a piece of cake, they hardly had needed to fight at all.

"Dean?" Sam called.

"Let's go Sam." Dean mumbled a little too inaudible. "I'm beat!"

Okay! That was it! Something was not right with Dean and he was determined to find out. Even if he had to tie Dean to the bed, Sam would find out. Dean never said he was tired, especially not after a job they were able to leave the battlefield unscathed – which happened once in a blue moon, they should celebrate it with beer and pizza for a job well done.

Sam brushed his drenched bangs off his forehead and got into the car at the driver's side. Dean was already slumped in the passenger seat – head leaning against the window with closed eyes. Dean's forehead was furrowed with pain lines and he was trembling so hard Sam could hear his teeth chatter. His lips had a bluish tinge blue and his skin was too pale.

"You're not okay Dean." Sam stated.

"Drive Sam,"

Sam shook his head. Now that was another sign, Dean was not calling him Sammy. Not even once. It had been Sam from the start. And then the two-word response, which was so not Dean's style, the limp feature, the shivering, Sam suspected a fever. Came to think of it, Dean's movement had been slow these few days. When he had nothing to do, he slept – a lot! His nights were spent watching cable TV, no more visits to the nearest bar or hitting on girls. Yep! Dean was definitely coming down with something.

'Shit!' Sam cussed himself for taking too long to realize about everything. He turned the ignition and drove the Impala away from the site – wanting to reach the motel as soon as possible so he could take a closer look at Dean, though he doubted Dean would let him without a fight.

………………………..

Sam struggled with the key, cursing out loud when it slipped from his finger and fell on the floor. He should have opened the door before getting his brother. He began to tense, Dean's weight on him was getting heavier and the keys were giving him trouble. Actually he was freaking out – not the keys' fault.

"Hang in there dude," Sam whispered as he looped his arm around Dean's middle.

All he got in response was a low groan. Sam winced.

The freaking out had started not long ago, as he'd parked the Impala at the motel's parking lot, only a few steps away from their room's door. Everything went smoothly, that was until he tried waking Dean from his slumber. One shake on the shoulder and Dean went lax – falling like a log all over Sam.

As Dean fell into his arms, Sam could feel the heat radiating from his brother, making him wince. Despite the scorching heat Dean was shivering badly and rocked Sam's body with him. Sam didn't need to feel his brother's forehead to know he had come down with a terrible fever.

But how could a fever increase so worryingly in only twenty minutes? He remembered touching Dean's skin before they got into the car, it had been way too cool then. The heat he was feeling now was alarmingly high, it had to be around 103°F; Sam was willing to bet on everything that he was right. For the temperature to be able to get this high, it normally would need around three to four hours. Sam was no doctor, but he had been around sick Dean too many times before to know Dean wasn't suffering from a normal fever.

The Winchesters knew better than to hide sickness from each other because being sick meant they wouldn't be able to function a 100 percent. Not functioning 100 percent meant they wouldn't be able to look for each other's back. So each of them would find a way to tell the other that he was sick in his own unique way – it worked for Dean at least, because when Sam was sick, Dean would know immediately, no need for any signs.

Dean might be stoic but he was not stupid. He would never hide a raging fever from Sam – well, it was not like he whined and whimpered, trying to get Sam's attention and all, but Sam would know because Dean would start being needy and bossy. Dean had a way of showing he was sick by bossing Sam around - making him do the laundry, change the channel, flip off the switch, close and salt the door – and mumbling about the weather and how things were boring and dull.

However, for the last few days Dean hadn't shown any signs that he was coming down with something. He had been a bit quiet, but not bossy and not even needy. So Sam doubted Dean knew he was sick.

Geez!

Sam bent down to pick up the key, carefully balancing Dean at his side and fumbled with the lock again. He took a deep breath and calmed himself. The key fit and the door opened. Sam practically dragged Dean into the room, and sat him down on a chair. He would do anything to get his brother to the bed, but Dean was soaked all over and he would need the bed to be dry. Getting on the bed with wet clothes would drench the bed too.

So Sam began undressing Dean, starting with the boots. He worked as fast as he could, wincing and cringing as his hands made contact with Dean's skin. His brother was burning up!

"I've got you Dean…we'll fix this together." Sam promised. "You're going to be okay."

If possible, the situation got worse when Dean started making a retching noise. Sam was frantic, he hated moving Dean now, but he hated it more to have Dean puking all over the room. He slung Dean's arm around his shoulder and pulled him upright, which was proven not a very bright thing to do because Dean doubled over and this time he was not only dry heaving.

Dean's tummy must have been doing flips at the sudden movement and whatever Dean had left in his system came out in violent heaves. The sickness was spewed all over the floor and Dean's front and Sam wasn't spared too. Luckily, Dean had not much left in his stomach. Now that triggered another fact – Dean had not been eating well these few days. He basically skipped a meal or two every day. Knowing Dean, that was a very bad sign!

Cringing at the sight and the smell, Sam couldn't help feeling sorry for Dean. Not only he was sick, now he was messy and beat. Stepping over the puddle of sickness, Sam heaved Dean into his arms – knowing for sure Dean wouldn't be able to walk on his own after the violent retching – and went for the bathroom.

………………………..

Sam lay Dean into the tub – Dean was too weak to sit anyway – and continued undressing him. When there was nothing left on Dean except for the boxers, he took off his shirt which was stained with Dean's sickness and turned on the tap.

He took the washcloth, wetted it and started cleaning Dean with a mother-like gentleness. At his touch, Dean's eyes cracked to narrow slits.

"Hey!" Sam smiled reassuringly. To see his brother's eyes fixed on him once more let him relax.

"S-Sammy…" Dean slurred.

"Yeah," He was not going to push it. Dean could take all the time he needed because Sam was not going anywhere.

"So-sorry…" Dean mumbled and then shuddered at the coldness of the water that Sam poured over his chest.

"Hey…you're not going away with this, you owe me a new shirt," Sam teased. "So, don't try to escape by saying sorry."

What should Dean be sorry for? For being sick and making Sam look after him? Hell, he was willing to die for Dean, no doubt about that. It was sad to see how lowly Dean thinks of himself. His brother always thought he was not worth being taken care of and to be loved by anyone else. It was heart wrenching to see Dean sacrificed everything for everyone – _for Sam especially_ – but never expected for anyone to return the favor.

"Bb-bitch!" Dean stuttered.

"Jerk!"

Hearing this gave Sam hope his brother was going to be okay.

"How about we get you to bed huh?" Sam brushed Dean's hair and caressed his brother's forehead with his thumb. The heat was still worrying him.

"Awk-awkward…"

Sam snorted. It did sound awkward. He slid an arm around Dean's back and lifted his upper body. Dean provided some assistance by pushing himself up, almost stumbling with the effort.

"I got ya!" Sam assured as he guided Dean out of the bathtub and pulled the towel over his big brother's trembling body. With one hand holding Dean, supporting him from falling down, Sam reached and turned off the water.

"Ss-sammy!" Dean called suddenly - sounding so frantic it sent shudders down Sam's spine. He looked up and saw Dean panting desperately for air. The older Winchester was stumbling forward, clutching to his towel with an iron grip.

"Hey! Hey! Hey!" Sam sat Dean down on the toilet and held Dean's chin up.

Dean's face was all white and his lips a deadly dull shade of blue. Sam cringed. His big brother's green eyes were wide with fear and confusion and his head was tossing violently as he tried gasping for air. His arms flailed around aimlessly, smacking Sam's hand away from touching him. Dean was hyperventilating and he was panicking.

"Dean! Dean! Look at me!" Sam urged as he turned Dean's head towards him. He cupped Dean's cheeks and made sure Dean's eyes were fixed on his'. "You're hyperventilating…you need to relax!" Sam was not sure he could relax himself.

Dean stopped trashing about and started focusing on Sam. His shaky fingers curled around Sam's steady arms as he set his gaze on Sam's gentle and calm face. His chest heaved up and down rapidly, as if it had taken a life of its own and refused to follow orders.

"Okay…follow me," Sam advised and started breathing in and out slowly. He put one hand on Dean's chest, keeping the pressure to ease the pounding in his brother's ribcage. The pounding in Dean's chest matched the one Sam was having in his. Seeing Dean panicking made him scare but he chased the fear away, focusing on bringing Dean back. "In now," Sam breathed in, all the while his eyes locked on Dean's green ones.

_In_.

And the wild green eyes calmed.

_Out_.

And Dean's chest moved in a steady rhythm.

_In_.

And the gasping eased to soft wheezing.

_Out_.

And Dean was breathing normally again.

Sam allowed a smile on his lips despite the mounting concern he had for Dean. Dean needed him to be calm for him to calm himself. There was no good in freaking out because it would just worsen the situation. Leaning his forehead against Dean's warm one, Sam patted Dean's cheek, congratulating his big brother for a job well done.

"Good…now, I need some help to move you to bed." He said tenderly. He was not going to take the risk of aggravating Dean's weakness and cause another round of hyperventilation.

Dean nodded weakly. He slung an arm around Sam's shoulder, let Sam curl his' around his back and stood up in one strong pull. Panting with effort, Dean waited for Sam's instructions. He was too tired to even think for himself.

"Now, slowly…" Sam's voice was so soft and comforting Dean thought there couldn't be any other sound sweeter than this. Dean moved his foot, right first and then left. When he got the rhythm, Dean started moving on his own.

The journey to the bed seemed like forever for Dean but he made it anyway. As soon as he reached it, Dean practically tossed himself onto the bed, praying his thanks for the bliss of being on a warm and soft mattress.

Sam helped him dress in his PJ bottoms, t-shirt, and his sweatshirt. Everything Sam put on him, he let them passed without any witty comments. But when Sam pulled the hoodie on him, Dean cringed. He must have looked like crap for Sam to offer him the hoodie. It was so not his style. Hooded jackets were for geeks.

"This is so not cool…"

"You are so not wearing the leather jacket in bed, dude!" Sam arched a brow.

Yeah! He wouldn't like it either. Never mind, he liked the hoodie though he always teased Sam for wearing it a little too often. It smelled so familiar – it smelled like Sam. Sam was his purpose of living and the hoodie was a part of his little brother. Dean could live with that.

When Sam reached out a hand to feel his head, Dean tried to smack it away. But Sam was determined and his big palm caught Dean's head, holding it firm despite Dean's groggy grumbles. The fever had broken and Sam was grateful he didn't have to drag Dean to the hospital. It was a trip they both would be glad to be spared from.

Dean on the other hand thought Sam had had enough of playing Florence Nightingale and knocked the hovering hand away. His desire was to let the hand remain there but he was too cool to let it be.

His little brother made him took some pills, a glass of water to wash them down and promised to get him some soup when he woke up later. Then Sam practically tucked him to bed. Dean let him takes the liberty. Yes! So chick-flicked but he did anyway.

With one hand on his shoulder, Sam said "Try to sleep now Dean." He sounded more like shushing than urging. Dean liked that. When he was sick, Sam never really ordered him around. He would just go with the flow – Dean's flow. Dean didn't know how he got sick in the first place – he was feeling a bit weird, lightheaded, his breathing was congested and he'd suspected it was caused by the weather, but he was thankful Sam was there.

"Hey Sam?"

"Hmm…" Sam was putting a shirt on.

"Did it ever occur to you why it was always me who got sick?" Dean felt his lids getting heavier by the second. He rubbed his eyes and was stopped by Sam's much cooler hand. "Why you seldom got sick?"

Sam shook his head, discouraging the rubbing. _'It was because it's my turn to look after you, big bro'_. Situation was different when they were kids. During their childhood, Sam was the sickness-prone and Dean was the caregiver. What goes around comes around. So maybe now it was his time to return the favor.

"Because you're a wuss!" Sam laughed. "And I'm awesome!"

"Yeah…but I'm always the good looking one."

"Try saying that when you look at yourself in the mirror." Sam snickered. "You looked like crap!"

"Well…girls dig sick and weary guys." Dean smirked before he closed his eyes, succumbing to sleep.

"Thanks for the tips bro," Sam fastened the cover on Dean. "But no thanks…I'm happy to be healthy." For Dean to allow Sam tucking him to bed showed how bad he was feeling. Sam rubbed Dean's shoulder and felt the tensed muscle relax.

"That's why you never get laid Sammy…you didn't have the look." Speaking with his eyes closed, Dean's lips curled.

"What look?"

"Ya' know, the look that says 'I'm sick and I'm needy…I need someone taking care of me'."

"I don't need the look Dean… if I ever needed one I'd just be frank about it." Sam tucked the edges of Dean's blanket, making sure the warmth didn't escape.

"You're a fun killer." Dean burrowed deeper into the cover.

"And you're a jerk!"

"Bitch…" The oldest Winchester had finally fallen asleep and what came out of his mouth was driven by habit.

Sam smiled and flicked off the lamp before he started cleaning the room.

"Nigh---my…" Dean slurred.

"Night Dean."

_Rest now bro, I'll be here when you wake up. I promise._

END

* * *

a/n: Reviews worth? Anyway, thanks for reading!


End file.
